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A  PLEA  FOR  PEACE 

AND 

OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

MAURICE  C.  WAUGH 


From  1he  Print  Shop  of 

WILL  A.  SMITH,  WHITTIER,  CALIFORNIA 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
MAURICE  C.  WAUGH 


DEDICATION 

To  those  who  know  war's  dreadful  curse, 
I  dedicate  this  book  of  verse; 
And  from  the  conference  called  for  peace, 
May  wars,  and  rumors  thereof,  cease. 


463451 


CONTENTS 

A  Plea  For  Peace  13 

Worse  Than  Death     -  14 

Life  I5 
The  Impossible 

Wives  And  Otherwise  17 

The  Real  Need  18 
Ode  To  A  Vermillion-Haired  Million-Heiress  19 
Preparedness 

Preparedness — continued  21 

The  Game  Of  Love  22 

You  Never  Know  23 
All  For  You 

Something  For  Nothing  25 

Visions     -  26 

Cart  Before  The  Horse  27 

Mine  28 

God  or  Mammon  29 

To  The  Editor  30 

Cash  31 

The  Crisis  32 

Then  And  Now  33 

Quality  Or  Quantity  34 

Quality  Or  Quantity — continued  35 
Love  Dreams  -  -  -  -  36 


Divorce  37 

The  Wail  Of  A  Commuter  38 

Jazz  39 

Freedom  40 

Freedom — continued  41 

Fumbling  42 

Sometime  -  43 

Just  You  44 

Departed  45 

Hard  Luck  46 

I  Kind  O'  Like  You  So         -  -  47 

Why  48 

Lonliness  49 

The  Organ  50 

Death  51 

Prayer  52 

Prayer — continued  53 

The  Greatest  Thing  in  Life  54 

Finis  55 


- 

0 


A  PLEA  FOR  PEACE 

The  past  decade,  so  filled  with  might  and  greed, 
Is  but  the  fruitage  of  the  grown-up  seed, 
Which  all  the  imps  of  hell  in  minds  had  sown, 
So  that  a  false  philosophy  was  known 
Whereby  some  men  thought  nothing  could  be  right 
Except  o'ertowered  by  the  power  of  might. 

Through  years  of  struggle,  blood,  and  grief,  and  pain, 
We've  seen  how  futile  is  this  greed  for  gain; 
We've  seen  the  nations  which  were  known  for  might 
Hurled  down  and  trampled  under  foot  o'er  night; 
We've  heard  the  very  universe  in  doubt 
Beseech,  "Oh,  God,  can  war  be  blotted  out!" 

Once  more  we  face  a  time  when  cease  it  must, 

For  if  we  fail  in  this  our  sacred  trust, 

The  world  will  reek  and  reel  with  profiteers, 

With  guns,  with  ships  of  war,  with  death,  and  tears — 

More  shame  on  all  the  human  race,  for  then 

We'll  ne'er  have  "peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men." 

So,  God,  in  this  our  time  of  greatest  need 
Help  us  forget  our  color,  race,  or  creed, 
And  all  unite  in  such  a  glorious  plan 
That  we  may  know  the  brotherhood  of  man, 
With  strife,  and  conquest,  war,  and  bloody  gore 
Unknown  on  earth  henceforth  forever  more. 

Page  Thirteen 


WORSE  THAN  DEATH 

Suppose  some  day  a  little  boy  of  mine 

Should  proudly  look  into  my  face  and  say, 

"Now,  Dad,  you  surely  got  up  to  the  Rhine. 
What  made  the  Germans  turn  and  run  away?" 

Suppose  I'd  gasp  and  frown,  and  hang  my  head, 
And  then  should  have  to  answer,  "No,  my  lad. 

Your  Daddie  didn't  have  to  face  the  lead; 
For  working  in  a  shipyard  was  the  fad. 

"You  see  your  father  made  almost  as  much 
As  eight  of  those  poor  simple  fighting  men, 

Of  whom  you  now  see  many  on  a  crutch, 
While  others  ask  us  please  to  lend  a  ten. 

"Then,  too,  there  wasn't  all  the  danger  here 

Of  raids,  and  gas,  and  bullets,  bombs  or  shells; 

And  in  our  feather  beds  we'd  never  fear 

The  rats,  and  mud,  or  trenches  deathly  smells. 

"If  father  had  been  in  that  awful  fight, 
He  might  not  be  here  for  his  Tootsie  Toots 

To  look  up  to,  and  love  with  all  his  might, 
So  some  day  he  can  fill  his  Daddy's  boots." 

Should  I  in  this  wise  have  to  make  reply, 
I'd  rather  by  a  million  times  have  died 

E'er  I  beheld  the  beauteous  earth  or  sky, 
Or  learned  of  men  whose  honor  atrophied. 

Page  Fourteen 


LIFE 

In  the  morning  time  of  life 
E'er  we  learn  of  sin  and  strife, 
We  can  dance,  and  skip,  and  sing — 
Naught  we  know  that  fate  will  bring. 

Then  our  youth  begins  to  dream 
Visions,  that  just  make  us  beam 
With  a  sense  of  strength  and  pride, 
And  there's  nothing  can  betide. 

So  our  manhood  comes  at  last; 
Castles  shattered  strew  the  past. 
Hopes  destroyed,  and  love  o'er  thrown- 
Open,  Grave,  and  claim  thine  own. 

Evening  falls  upon  the  stage 
And  remorse  comes  on  with  age. 
Had  we  only  done  our  best, 
We'd  not  fear  this  going  West. 


Page  Fiftee» 


THE  IMPOSSIBLE 

The  woman  never  has  been  born 

Whose  life  with  mine  could  be  entwined, 

For  she  would  surely  be  forlorn 

And  lose  her  mind  before  she  pined. 

Suppose  for  breakfast  she  served  mush 
When  I  have  always  eaten  pie; 

Or  else,  she'd  like  a  coat  of  plush 
So  my  old  coat  I'd  have  to  dye. 

Then  next  she'd  want  a  limousine, 
In  spite  of  knowing  that  my  purse 

Was  sparcely  filled  for  gasolene. 
Ye  gods!  to  live  with  a  curse. 

A  summer  cottage  at  the  beach 

She'd  be  determined  to  erect; 
But,  I  could  never,  never  reach 

The  social  stratum  she'd  select. 

Or  maybe  she'd  not  care  to  roam 
But  rather  make  a  homelike  place; 

I  like  the  spray  of  ocean  foam — 
A  change  of  scene  and  also  face. 

The  woman  never  has  been  born 

Whose  life  with  mine  could  be  entwined, 

For  heartstrings  surely  would  be  torn 
And  more  than  likely  I'd  be  fined. 

Page  Sixteen 


WIVES  OR  OTHERWISE 

I've  often  wondered  at  the  scores  of  men 
Who  seem  much  younger  than  their  sons  of  ten; 
For  years  rest  lightly  on  Dad's  burdened  frame, 
When  son  has  lassoed  him  into  his  game. 

I've  seen  a  lady  no  more  young  in  years 
Console  her  daughter  who  was  grieved  with  tears, 
And  really  you  would  have  to  look  again 
To  see  which  was  the  younger  of  the  twain. 

Howe'er  there's  something  gives  me  greater  care, 

Because  I  fear  to  answer  back  the  dare. 

At  times  I  see  a  lady  with  a  man; 

The  lady's  eyes  say,  "Catch  me  if  you  can." 

By  Jove,  she  looks  so  young,  and  sweet,  and  spry, 

And  he  so  very  old,  and  cold,  and  wry — 

And  yet,  I  cannot  tell  you  for  my  life 

If  she's  his  daughter,  or  his  charming  wife. 


Page  Seventeen 


THE  REAL  NEED 

When  I  was  just  "around  the  town," 
Folks  never  seemed  to  care  a  whit 

If  I  was  sick,  or  well,  or  down 
And  out,  or  even  where  I  lit. 

Some  day  my  name  may  flare  and  flame 
In  letters  you  can  read  a  block, 

Then  these  dear  folks,  with  loud  acclaim 
Will  hail  me  by  the  drove  and  flock. 

When  men  are  really  out  of  luck, 

And  look  up  to  the  crest  above, 
That's  when  they're  in  the  mire  and  muck — 

They  need  a  pull,  and  not  a  shove. 

Dame  Fortune  smiles  on  many  men 
In  spite  of  all  they  have  to  face, 

And  you  may  wager  one  to  ten, 

'Twas  not  from  boosts,  but  just  His  grace. 


Page  Eighteen 


AN  ODE  TO  A  VERMILLION-HAIRED 
MILLION-HEIRESS 

No,  I  am  not  exactly  an  old  batch, 

Tho'  some  young  damsel  failed  to  find  her  match; 

For  several  years  ago  I  turned  the  page 

Into  the  realm  where  men  are  called  of  age. 

I  used  to  think  I  was  a  ladies'  man, 
But  now,  folks  point   and  say,  "He  also  ran." 
Altho'  I've  gone  with  girls,  a  score  or  more, 
Still  where  I  sleep,  mine  is  the  only  snore. 

I've  traveled  far,  in  many  foreign  strands, 
I've  seen  the  women  of  some  varied  lands; 
But  now,  mv  feet  are  tired  and  need  a  rest; 
I  feel  that  I  must  face  the  crucial  test. 

And  so  I'm  looking  for  a  lady  fair, 
But  she  must  have  a  hue  and  shade  of  hair 
The  color  men  once  painted  up  the  town, 
Before  they  learned  of  Prohibition's  frown. 

A  million  shekels,  at  the  very  least 

Must  be  her  dower  at  the  wedding  feast; 

So.  Lady  Fair,  with  hair  of  bright  vermillion, 

Please  prove  to  me  that  you  are  worth  a  million. 

Page   Nineteen 


PREPAREDNESS 

Why  hitch  your  wagon  to  a  single  star 

When  twinklers  fill  the  broad  expanse  of  night? 
Some  time  you  may  receive  a  sudden  jar, 

And  your  lone  star  may  cease  to  give  its  light. 

But  if  you  use  a  half  a  dozen  ropes 

With  which  to  lasso  several  other  stars, 

Then  don't  you  really  see  the  increased  hopes 
You  have  of  saving  your  old  carts  and  cars? 

Now  take  the  illustration  of  a  man 

Who  pays  his  debts  and  taxes  with  a  vim, 

And  also  fights  for  country  when  he  can, 

And  joins  a  lodge  which  may  appeal  to  him. 

Old  age  swoops  down  upon  this  mortal's  frame 
And  fate  has  robbed  him  of  his  earthly  stores ; 

Of  course,  he's  learned  there's  nothing  in  a  name, 
So  turns  to  where  the  poor  men  do  the  chores. 

A  fire  has  burned  the  poor  house  to  the  ground ; 

But  Uncle  Sam  will  surely  treat  him  right, 
For  Uncle's  judgment  never  is  unsound, 

Then  to  the  Soldiers'  Home  he  takes  his  flight. 

Page  Twenty 


They  meet  him  at  the  door  with  gracious  smiles, 
Tho'  lists  they  keep  proclaim  he  was  a  slacker; 

Despite  the  fact  of  all  these  crushing  wiles 

One  place  he  knows  will  keep  him  in  "tobakker." 

The  home  for  aged  which  his  lodge  supplies 
Receives  him  with  its  portals  thrown  ajar — 

Kind  friend  who  would  have  furnished  him  with  pies, 
If  he  had  hung  his  wagon  on  one  star? 


Page  Twenty-one 


THE  GAME  OF  LOVE 

This  game  of  love's  a  funny  thing; 

You  think  you've  found  the  only  girl 
And,  then   you  have  to  buy  a  ring, 

Thus  to  secure  life's  dearest  pearl. 

So  many  times  men  make  a  choice 
Before  they  know  what  they're  about, 

And  later  wish  she'd  lose  her  voice, 
Or  else  was  slim  instead  of  stout. 

But  then  of  course,  she   too,  perhaps 
Might  think  that  fate  was  most  unkind, 

Which  dealt  one  of  its  rattle  traps 
For  her  through  life  to  try  to  mind. 

Perchance  our  love  must  be  both  dumb 
And  blind  to  faults  which  each  possess, 

Or  we  may  sit  and  suck  our  thumb 
And  wish  the  other  would  confess. 


Page  Twrnty-two 


YOU  NEVER  KNOW 

You  never  know  what  you  can  do 

Until  you've  tried  with  all  your  might, 

And  never  quit  when  you'd  like  to, 
Altho'  you  seemed  to  lose  the  fight. 

You  never  know  what  "brass"  is  worth 
Unless  you've  never  had  a  cent, 

But  still  acquired  a  look  of  mirth, 
And  kept  right  on  and  made  a  dent. 

You  never  know  the  power  of  prayer 

Until  you're  down  and  out; 
Then  answering  your  plea  for  care, 

The  Lord  most  always  makes  you  stout. 

But  all  that  is  required  of  us 

Is  just  to  do  our  level  best, 
And  never  fret,  or  fume,  or  fuss — 

So  shall  we  find  our  promised  rest. 


Page  Twenty-three 


ALL  FOR  YOU 

The  power  to  tell  you  of  my  love,  dear  heart, 
Is  futile  as  the  feeble  hand  of  man  to  stay 

The  flames,  which  o'er  the  prairie  leap  and  dart, 
Consuming  everything  along  the  way. 

The  power  to  build  the  home  like  sort  of  nest 
Which  I  would  like  to  ask  if  you  will  share, 

Is  not  sufficient  to  procure  the  best — 

And  that   for  you,  is  not  enough  to  fare. 

The  power  to  reach  the  highest  plane  in  life 
And  there  to  win  the  battles  we  must  fight, 

Gives  vim  and  vigor  to  our  earthly  strife, 
And  keeps  us  always  in  the  path  of  right. 

The  power  to  will  is  still  our  grandest  gift 
For  which  I  thank  an  ever  watchful  hand, 

And  trust  that  from  my  failures  I  may  sift 
The  gold  and  fortune  of  a  fairer  land. 

The  power  to  live  as  I  have  long  desired 

May  yet  be  placed  within  my  humble  reach; 

Then  I  shall  offer  you  a  heart  inspired 
To  live  and  learn,  as  only  you  can  teach. 

Page   Twenty-four 


SOMETHING  FOR  NOTHING 

I  thought  that  I  could  surely  get  rich  quick — 
I  thought,  and  now  I  wonder  why  I  thought, 

That  all  I'd  need  to  turn  the  little  trick 

Was  just  the  wild  cat  stock  that  I  had  bought. 

The  stock  went  down,  and  with  it  my  heart  sank; 

The  moon  came  up,  and  with  it  came  regret: 
Gone  were  all  of  my  savings  from  the  bank; 

Gone  also  was  the  girl  I'd  hoped  to  get. 

Something  for  nothing  never  has  been  true, 
Tho'  here  and  there  exceptions  prove  the  rule; 

So  in  my  memory  may  I  always  rue 

The  times  I've  acted  like  a  bloomin'  mule. 


Page  Twenty-five 


VISIONS 

I  sit  in  my  room  and  stare  at  the  wall, 

Full  well  do  I  know  there's  nothing  in  sight, 

Yet  visions  appear  from  nowhere  at  all, 

Which  cause  me  to  smile,  or  shiver  with  fright. 

The  past  is  all  strewn  with  dead  memories; 

The  future's  alive  with  dreams  unfulfilled, 
Like  leaves  which  are  blown  in  fall  from  the  trees, 

And  those  that  are  green  which  spring  has  just 
thrilled. 

I  think  of  the  times  when  luck  has  been  bad, 
I  long  for  the  time,  when  into  my  life 

The  joys  of  the  day  will  drown  all  the  sad, 
And  then,  perhaps,  I  can  find  a  good  wife. 


Page  Twenty-six 


CART  BEFORE  THE  HORSE 

When  we  were  merely  lads  in  school, 

We  never  used  to  study  much, 
Though  Joe  would  study  like  a  fool 

We'd  laugh  about  his  "mental  crutch." 

A  flower  we  would  classify 

Because  we  knew  its  given  name, 

And  from  the  name  we  would  rely 
On  working  backward  for  our  fame. 

When  we  were  summoned  up  in  class 
To  tell  the  things  we  could  recall, 

We  never  once  would  fail  to  pass, 
For  long  ago  we'd  learned  to  "stall." 

We  see  the  error  of  our  pranks 

When  years  have  swiftly  come  and  flown; 
For,  Joe  directs  affairs  in  banks, 

While  by  the  winds  of  chance  we're  blown. 

Like  many  folks,  we  tried  to  cop 
Our  fortunes  and  our  fame  at  first, 

By  starting  at  the  ladder's  top — 

But,  Fate  has  doomed  us  to  be  cursed. 


Page  Twenty-seven 


MINE 

When  you're  away 

I  cannot  sing, 
Or  read,  or  play, 

Or  do  a  thing. 

When  you  are  near 
My  heart  strings  leap; 

My  brain  acts  queer; 
I  feel  so  cheap. 

This  life  is  short 

And  death  is  sure — 

Why  not  report 

And  seek  the  cure? 

Or  else  someone 
May  win  your  love, 

And  call  you  "hun," 
Or  "sweet,"  or  "dove." 

And  then  my  heart 

Would  cease  to  pump, 
My  thoughts  to  start, 

My  nerves  to  jump. 

So,  Love  Divine, 
With  heart  of  gold, 

Will  you  be  mine 
To  have  and  hold? 

Page  Twenty -eight 


GOD  OR  MAMMON 

In  a  pew  at  the  church  where  I  worshipped  today, 
I  took  note  of  the  plate  which  the  ushers  passed 

'round. 

The  collection  was  such  that  indeed  I  might  say, 
That  by  far  the  most  part  merely  dimes  would  be 
found. 

Then  I  studied  the  brethren  who  sat  near  at  hand, 
And  I  thought  of  the  places  each  day  of  the  week 

They  would  stuff  with  their  dollars  all  over  the  land, 
Just  to  gratify  whims  and  the  pleasures  they  seek. 

So  the  Lord  gets  our  dimes,  and  the  devil  our  bills; 

But  the  time  will  approach,  and  is  not  far  away, 
When  a  voice  will  proclaim  from  the  mountains  and 
hills, 

That  the  Lord  is  nearby  and  the  devil  must  pay. 


Pupe  Twenty-nine 


TO  THE  EDITOR 

When  you  have  looked  this  poem  thru 
And  have  decided  it  will  "du," 
Please  find  a  place  for  it  in  print 
Where  folks  may  read  and  take  the  hint 

But  if  you  think  it  is  too  "punk," 
Just  throw  it  in  a  pile  of  junk; 
Or,  better  still,  for  such  a  fizzle, 
Build  up  the  fire  and  watch  it  sizzle. 


Page  Thirty 


CASH 

The  filthy  lucre  we  have  christened  cash 
To  some  of  us  means  room,  and  shoes,  and  hash ; 
To  others  'tis  a  millstone  'round  their  necks, 
For  they  are  cursed  with  it  in  bales  and  pecks. 

It's  good  to  have  a  sum  of  cash  around, 
If  you  should  want  to  buy  a  little  ground; 
It's  bad  to  find  that  you're  entirely  out 
When  you  are  sick,  or  have  a  case  of  gout. 

It's  hard  to  get  and  keep,  but  not  to  spend; 
Easy  to  draw  and  lose,  but  not  to  lend. 
It's  loose  when  we  have  Democratic  sway, 
And  tight  when  things  have  gone  the  other  way. 

To  taste  its  power,  men  will  fight  and  die; 
To  clutch  and  squeeze  it,  others  steal  and  lie. 
The  rich  disburse  it  in  a  steady  stream, 
While  misers  grip  it  till  the  "eagles  scream." 

When  man  has  ceased  to  speak  and  draw  his  breath 
We  say  that  he  has  what  is  known  as  death; 
Till  then  he  cannot  live  without  his  cash — 
To  say  what  happens  after  that  is  rash. 

Page  Thirty-one 


THE  CRISIS 

When  the  turning  points  in  life  are  near 
And  we  pace  the  floor  throughout  the  night, 

Could  we  only  hear  a  voice  so  clear 
Telling  us  just  how  to  seek  the  right. 

If  our  eyes  could  only  see  the  way 
That  we  ought  to  follow  here  below, 

Many  times  we'd  chide  ourselves  and  say, 

"What  weak  wills  in  human  skulls  do  grow." 

When  at  length  we're  driven  to  the  wall 

With  our  backs  thrust  up  against  the  stone, 

And  we're  forced  to  fight,  perhaps  to  fall, 
Maybe  it  is  best  to  strive  alone. 

But  it  must  be  comforting  to  feel 

That  your  soul  mate  knows  what  you  must  face, 
And  is  ready  by  your  side  to  kneel, 

While  you  ask  for  strength  and  guiding  grace. 


Page  Thirty-two 


THEN  AND  NOW 

I  should  like  to  have  lived  when  a  man  was  a  dub, 
Who  could  not  simply  go,  if  he  sought  for  a  bride, 

With  some  beads  in  one  hand,  in  the  other  a  club, 
And  request  that  she  cook  for  him  all  of  her  life. 

I  should  like  to  have  owned  a  small  castle  in  Spain 
When  the  knights  were  still  bold  in  their  feudal 

array ; 
Then  a  stronghold  I'd  storm  with  my  brave,  gallant 

train, 
And  the  fairest  I'd  claim  to  be  known  as  my  own. 

But,  perhaps  it  is  best  that  I  live  when  I  do, 
And  never  complain  about  difficult  tasks; 

For  there  never  was  any  old  timer  who  knew, 

Or  who  dared  even  dream  of  a  modern  romance. 

Oh,  it's  nothing  now,  days  just  to  read  of  a  case 
Where  a  couple  eloped  in  a  flying  machine, 

Or,  it  may  be  the  charge  which  they're  called  to  face 
Was  for  stealing  Dad's  Ford  when  they  went  to 
be  tied. 


Page  Thirty-three 


QUALITY  OR  QUANTITY 

There  are  schools  and  colleges  that  boast 
Of  the  thousands  which  they  have  enrolled, 

What  a  motto  for  a  striking  toast, 
"Quantity  for  quality  extolled." 

Many  lodges  have  become  machines 

That  are  making  members  by  the  score; 

But  the  sad  part  lies  behind  the  scenes 
Where  they've  lost  the  spirit  as  of  yore. 

So  the  church,  instead  of  training  souls, 
Tries  to  double  its  old  membership; 

And  the  pastor  figures  out  new  goals, 
While  the  devil  causes  men  to  slip. 

In  the  modern  world  of  business  cares 
Men  just  try  to  see  who'll  mass  the  most; 

We  put  premiums  on  the  millionaires, 
And  all  grab  from  coast  to  thriving  coast. 

Emerson  was  surely  in  the  right 
When  he  asked,  "Why  live  eternally? 

For  to  try  with  all  our  mortal  might, 
One  half  hour  we  use  infernally." 

Page  Thirty-four 


Even  so,  our  gold  is  but  a  curse, 

And  our  lives  are  blighted  in  its  wake, 

If  we  take  our  dollars  from  our  purse 
Just  to  cast  them  in  the  sea  or  lake. 


Pag?  Thirty-five 


LOVE  DREAMS 

I  never  dreamed  that  I  love  you 
Till  after  you  had  gone  away; 

I  wonder  now  what  I  would  do 

If  you  should  go,  and  always  stay. 

I  never  dreamed  that  you  love  me; 

I  never  knew  you  even  care, 
Or  I  would  ask  you  just  to  be — 

Pray  tell  me,  Love,  how  would  I  fare? 


Page  Thirty-six 


DIVORCE 

Oh,  Love,  that  was,  but  now  art  flown, 
I  would  that  I  had  never  known 
The  sweetness  of  that  voice  divine; 
Those  tresses  brown,  and  soft,  and  fine ; 
The  glances  which  those  eyes  could  dart; 
The  joy  those  lips  would  oft  impart; 
That  mind  so  keen,  so  fresh,  so  wise; 
That  soul  which  lived  beyond  the  skies. 
I  cannot  understand  the  Fate 
Which  changes  Love  almost  to  Hate. 


P*ge  Thirty -seven 


THE  WAIL  OF  A  COMMUTER 

Upon  a  crowded  bus  the  other  day, 
There  hopped  a  husky,  wild  eyed,  country  jay. 
His  hands  frisked  in  and  out  among  his  pockets; 
His  eyes  were  scarce  constrained  within  their  sockets. 

When  all  his  useless  jerks,  and  jams,  and  jabs 
Had  come  to  naught  but  fruitless  grabs  and  stabs, 
A  light  dawned  on  his  frantic,  thoughtless  face — 
His  hatband  held  the  object  of  his  chase. 

Then  followed  several  miles  of  jolts  and  shakes, 
Before  a  lady  signalled  for  the  brakes. 
She  searched,  and  then  researched  a  silken  bag, 
Until  she  found  her  purse  among  the  swag. 

She  gazed  into  her  purse  for  quite  a  spell, 

And  poked,  and  tweaked,  and  pulled  at  things  as 

well; 

Of  course,  the  driver  thought  that  she  was  broke, 
When  lo!  she  plucked  the  ticket  from  her  cloak. 

Moral. 

If  in  your  garb  you  only  keep  one  place, 

Whether  in  pocket  or  among  some  lace, 

Where  you  are  sure  that  you  have  placed  your  billet, 

Then  you  can  find  it  any  time  you  will-it. 

Page  Thirty-eight 


JAZZ 

Some  people  like  the  "jazz"  so  much 
That  all  their  records  wail  and  screech, 

And  all  their  friends  are  only  such 

As  "shimmy"  in  their  acts  and  speech. 

The  music  which  they  always  buy 

Just  reels  and  reeks  in  snappy  strains, 

And  all  their  songs  so  rend  the  sky, 

That  all  the  neighbors  groan  with  pains. 

Likewise,  the  dances  which  they  know 
Are  wicked,  weavy,  wily  shakes, 

And  glides  so  creepy  and  so  slow 
That  they  compare  with  snails  and  snakes. 

The  very  atmosphere  is  steeped 
And  saturated  with  this  slime; 

We  know  that  what  we  sow  is  reaped, 
And  many  times  we're  sowing  crime. 


Page  Thirty -nine 


FREEDOM— TO  DO  AS  WE  OUGHT 

Most  all  of  us  can  sing  a  bar  or  two 

And  also  whistle,  when  we're  feeling  fine, 

And  talk  a  streak  about  the  things  we  do, 
Or  eat  our  food  as  noisily  as  swine. 

But  when  I  go  to  hear  a  band  perform, 
I  want  to  hear  the  music  that  they  play, 

And  not  a  hoarse  voice,  sadly  out  of  form 
Proclaiming  some  one  in  the  crowd's  a  jay. 

So,  likewise,  when  a  drama  comes  to  town, 
And  I  have  paid  good  money  for  a  seat, 

I  don't  go  just  to  hear  some  would-be  clown 
Behind  me,  tell  his  girl  she's  "hard  to  beat." 

Sometimes  I  try  to  concentrate  my  mind 
On  weighty  problems  of  the  present  age, 

When  someone,  who  has  never  learned  to  mind 
His  business,  butts  in  whistling — to  my  rage. 

When  I  go  in  a  restaurant  to  eat, 

"The  orchestra  is  fine,"  I  like  to  say, 

But  how  can  any  man  enjoy  this  treat 

If  someone's  yodling  soup  across  the  way. 

Page  Forty 


Of  course,  we're  living  in  a  land  of  free 

And  brave,  and  equal  men,  and  women,  too; 

But  may  we  ever  clearly  try  to  see 

That  what  "I"  do  also  pertains  to  "You." 


Page  Forty -one 


FUMBLING 

Fumbling,  always  fumbling 

O'er  the  words  I  speak  to  you; 

Jumbling,  always  jumbling 
Everything  I  try  to  do. 

Mumbling,  ever  mumbling — 

What  I  say  is  all  so  trite ; 
Stumbling,  ever  stumbling — 

So  I'm  forced  at  length  to  write. 

Rumbling,  my  head's  rumbling 
Till  my  thoughts  are  in  a  mess 

Crumbling,  my  heart's  crumbling 
When  you  seem  to  love  me  less. 

Grumbling,  how  I'm  grumbling 
'Cause  the  world  is  upside  down; 

Tumbling,  yes  I'm  tumbling 
To  the  fact  I'm  but  a  clown. 


Page  Forty-two 


SOMETIME 

Sometime  I  shall  build  a  house; 
Sometime  I  shall  find  a  spouse; 
Sometime  I  shall  write  a  book; 
Sometime  cease  to  be  a  crook. 

Sometime  birds  will  sweetly  sing; 
Sometime  Life  will  lose  it's  sting; 
Sometime  skies  will  all  be  bright; 
Sometime  dark  will  turn  to  light. 

Sometime — it  is  always  sometime 
That  the  bells  are  going  to  chime; 
Shall  we  never  reach  the  "time  some 
Of  these  things  may  yet  become? 


Page  Forty-three 


JUST  YOU 

There's  a  time  in  our  lives  when  the  spirit  to  roam 
Is  suppressed  by  a  motive  far  deeper  and  sound ; 

For  our  lighter  desires  are  so  much  like  the  foam, 
While  our  purer  emotdons  are  firm  as  the  ground. 

Nearly  all  of  us  see  more  or  less  of  the  world, 

Then  we  tire  of  the  fickleness,  pomp  and  display, 

And  we  long  for  a  cabin,  or  cottage,  where  curled 
In  a  chair,  we  can  listen  as  wife  talks  away. 

At  some  time  we  may  wish  to  go  back  to  the  place 
Where  we  hunted,  or  fought,  or  our  learning  im- 
bibed; 

But  how  nice,  with  our  better  half  scanning  our  face, 
It  will  be  to  relate  what  our  memory  inscribed. 

Surely  joy  will  be  many  fold  greater  with  you 
To  explore  all  the  beauties  of  nature  and  art, 

Than  to  selfishly  gobble  up  all  of  the  view, 

And  to  leave  you  with  hopes  unattained  in  your 
heart. 


Pag«  Forty -four 


DEPARTED 

In  the  gloom  we  often  grope 
Till  the  darkness  sort  o'  clears. 

From  the  murk  in  which  we  mope 
Many  times  we  lose  .our  fears. 

Even  sorrows  we  have  known 

That  have  seemed  to  deep  for  tears, 
Have  all  passed,  and  have  been  blown 
Like  the  wind  which  disappears. 

With  our  joys  this  is  not  true, 

For  we  look  back  o'er  the  years, 
And  recall  a  jolly  "rue" 

Where  they  served  light  wines  and  beers. 


Page  Forty-five 


HARD  LUCK 

It  seems  hard  luck  is  always  mine; 

My  eyes  are  in  a  horrid  fix, 
My  teeth  are  bad,  my  feet  are  flat, 

My  lungs  are  weak,  my  hair  is — nix. 

My  salary  is'nt  very  much; 

I  have  no  decent  place  to  eat, 
And  rooms  cost  what  a  house  is  worth, 

While  all  my  trousers  need  a  seat. 

I  walked  along  the  street  today 
And  saw  a  fellow  on  the  walk 

Whose  legs  were  gone,  whose  back  was  bent, 
And  who  could  neither  hear  nor  talk. 

I  know  a  man  who's  out  of  work, 

And  yet  his  wife  and  babes  must  live; 

So  all  their  pride  is  crushed  and  seared, 
For  they  must  take  what  folks  will  give. 

If  what  ails  me  is  called  hard  luck, 
Then  new  words  should  be  coined  to  fit 

The  case  of  those  who  drink  life's  dregs, 
And  seem  so  near  the  fiery  pit. 

Page  Forty-six 


I  KIND  0'  LIKE  YOU  SO 

When  the  world  is  out  of  joint 
And  most  everything  goes  wrong, 

Come  to  me  and  let  me  point 
Out  the  way  to  joy  and  song — 
Because  I  kind  o'  like  you  so. 

Health  all  gone  and  temper  riled? 

Mortgaged  all  that  you  possess? 
Lost  your  friend,  or  wife,  or  child? 

I  may  help  you  ne'er  the  less — 
Because  I  kind  o'  like  you  so. 

Tho'  it  seems  no  hope  is  left 
And  perdition's  not  so  bad, 

You  are  surely  not  bereft, 

While  I'm  here  to  make  you  glad — 
Because  I  kind  o'  like  you  so. 

So  cheer  up  and  smile  a  grin; 

Night  is  darkest — then  the  dawn 
Bursts  upon  this  world  of  sin, 

And  our  fears  are  all  withdrawn — 
Because  He  kind  o'  likes  us  so. 


Page  Forty-seven 


WHY? 

Why  do  we  tire  of  the  things  that  we  see 

Each  day  of  our  lives  as  we  pass  on  our  way? 

Why  do  we  long  for  the  great  "out  beyond" 
Which  hems  in  our  little  horizon  we  say? 

Why  do  we  plan  for  a  future  so  grand, 

And  know  all  the  while  'twill  hold  grief  and 
dismay? 

Why  does  our  heart  cease  to  vibrate  with  joy 

When  shadows  of  sorrow  have  darkened  our  mind? 

Why  does  a  habit  creep  into  our  life 

And  get  such  a  hold  that  it  will  not  unwind? 

Why  are  the  riches  and  good  things  of  earth 
Withheld  till  we're  toothless,  and  crabbed,  and 
blind? 

When  we  were  children  we  liked  to  ask  why 

The  night  had  to  come  and  spoil  all  of  our  play. 

Now  that  experience  has  widened  our  view, 

We  know  that  the  night  has  to  follow  the  day, 

Still  we  are  mortal  and  foolishly  ask 

About  many  things  we  don't  know,  but  we  may. 


Page  Forty-eight 


LONELINESS 

I've  stood  alone  on  desert  sands; 

I've  hiked  alone  mid  rocky  peaks, 
And  prairie  slopes,  and  timber  lands; 

Alone  I've  sat  on  great  ship's  beaks 
And  watched  the  seething  briny  deep: 

But  loneliness  ne'er  grips  my  heart 
Till  down  a  street  I  slowly  creep, 

And  of  the  crowds  know  none  apart, 


Page  Forty-ninf 


THE  ORGAN 

The  music  of  an  organ  seems 

To  grip  me  with  a  magic  spell, 
While  pouring  forth  its  very  soul 

I  almost  think  that  all  is  well. 

I  lose  the  sense  of  time  and  space 

While  rapture  thrills  me  through  and  through; 
I  wish  the  past  were  all  erased 

And  I  might  live  my  life  anew. 

Sometimes  the  tones  are  soft  and  sweet, 
And  then  the  pipes  all  seem  to  wail 

In  plaintive  notes  of  solemn  woe, 
Just  as  in  life  we  win  or  fail. 

Oft  times  again  in  ecstacy 

I'm  swept  beyond  this  little  stage, 

And  feel  the  freedom  of  the  skies, 
Much  as  a  bird  which  flees  its  cage. 

But,  suddenly  the  music  stops, — 

The  earth  extends  a  void  expanse 
And  waits  me  with  its  cruel  cares, 

As  I  awaken  from  my  trance. 

Page  Fifty 


DEATH 

Death  is  but  a  parting  of  the  clay 
From  the  soul  which  onward  speeds  its  way; 
Just  a  changing  of  our  mortal  shrouds, 
For  the  robes  of  white  beyond  the  clouds : 
Life  is  sweet  with  all  its  toils  and  cares, 
But  this  place  we  ask  for  in  our  prayers 
Must  be  sweeter,  fairer,  lovelier  than 
Anything  that's  been  revealed  to  man. 


Page  Fifty-one 


PRAYER 

How  often  we  think  prayer  is  just 
For  use  in  time  of  direst  needs. 

Along  with  joys  we  rest  our  trust, 

And  let  our  souls  grow  up  in  weeds. 

At  other  times  we  think  that  God 

Should  give  the  things  we  ask  of  him, 

But  never  will  his  ways  be  trod 

Again,  unless  he  grants  our  whim. 

When  days  are  bright  and  roads  are  smooth 
We  never  think  to  offer  thanks; 

When  storms  have  crashed,  our  fears  we  soothe 
By  posing  as  religious  cranks. 

We're  like  the  boy  up  on  the  roof 

Who  slipped,  and  with  a  smothered  gulp 
Exclaimed,  "Oh,  Lord,  please  give  me  proof 

That  I  will  not  be  crushed  to  pulp." 

A  nail  projecting  in  his  path 

Was  just  the  means  that  God  had  wrought, 
And  yet  this  boy  cried  out  in  wrath 

"Ne'er  mind,  dear  Lord,  for  I  have  caught.' 

Page  Fifty-two 


But  in  all  seriousness  now 

Our  prayers  should  always  meet  the  test, 
Not  of  the  "Father  I  will  Thou," 

But,  "As  Thou  wilt"  for  us  is  best. 


Fifty  .three 


THE  GREATEST  THING  IN  LIFE 

I  think  the  greatest  thing  in  life 
Would  be  to  have  a  faithful  wife, 
Who  hankers  not  for  bridge  and  punch 
But  can  concoct  a  tempting  lunch. 

One  who  does  not  forever  gad, 
Nor  fall  for  each  new  f angled  fad; 
Who  plays  and  sings — yet  likes  to  cook, 
And  loves  me  just  like  in  a  book. 

I  never  owned  a  faithful  bride 
Perchance  because  of  my  false  pride. 
My  gaze  is  'way  up  in  the  sky ; 
My  eyes  can't  see  the  common  fry. 

Some  day  a  little  blue  eyed  dame 
May  have  a  chance  to  change  her  name; 
Perhaps  she'll  say,  "It  is  not  best 
For  me  to  live  with  such  a  pest." 


Page  Fifty-four 


FINIS 

My  days  have  been  so  full  of  joy, 

And  sorrow  too,  and  love,  and  strife,— 

And  yet,  I'm  only  just  a  boy 
In  spite  of  concentrated  life. 

I've  played  the  game  from  start  to  end, 
And  may  folks  say  when  I  depart, 

"His  flesh  and  bones  with  earth  shall  blend, 
But  we  shall  always  have  his  heart." 


Page  Fifty- &v« 


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